“Don, I’m not building a fiefdom. I’m about getting results. Too many times I’ve passed hard-won intel up the line, intel people have died for, only to see it get lost, stepped on, or squashed because it’s politically inconvenient. That camp was given to us by a Sunni tribal elder, in confidence, and under pain of his own death. He’s a source, and I’m protecting him. We pass this stuff up the line, and I guarantee you he’s exposed inside of twenty-four hours. I don’t do that, not here. Whisper the wrong word to the wrong person, and entire groups of people get snuffed.”

Big Daddy let that linger in the room.

He was a strange and mercurial man. He was sitting on intelligence that might, or might not, save the President’s daughter. He was not going to release it because he was protecting some Sunni tribespeople.

“We don’t even know if what we have is relevant at all. Yes, the people holding Elizabeth Barrett claim to be aligned with Zarqawi’s group, but putting a banner on the wall doesn’t really mean anything. We have no identifying features in this video—no voices outside of Elizabeth’s, no identifiable landscape features, or even internal architectural style. No faces of the terrorists. We have a tattoo, but nothing else. Any one of a hundred terrorist leaders and splinter groups could have taken that child. There is absolutely no reason to believe that we have an inside track on this. We could get people killed for a lead that’s a dead end.”

“If there’s no reason to believe, then why even do it?” Mark Swann said.

Big Daddy shrugged. “We have to do something. We can’t just sit here. There are a million investigations going on, and most of them are higher priority than this. But the vast majority of them will not bear fruit. This one also probably won’t. But if we don’t try, and the President’s girl gets killed, I’m going to have a hard time living with that.”

“What do you suggest?” Don said.

“I suggest we poke at it. Probe around a little. You know my motto—grab a loose end and pull. Let’s see if we really have anything. We move fast, and in secret. If we do have something, then we pass it on. But only then.”

“Monty?” Don said.

Montgomery shrugged. He was wearing a dress shirt that was soaked through with sweat. He looked ruffled, like he had slept in it. He was a very rumpled man. Even his face looked like it had come through some sort of clothing wringer.

He was drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette.